


Silver and Fire

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child abuse under the guise of training, M/M, Pre-Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Steter Network Monthly Prompt, Stiles Stilinski is an Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:11:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: Every single day, Stiles is reminded of who he is. "You're an Argent. You're made of silver and fire." He's been trained, honed to be deadly and vicious without remorse. He's been taught to kill monsters indiscriminately because they're volatile and dangerous and need to be put down. He's been taught hate and violence and rage.The thing is, Stiles also remembers. He pretends he doesn't, because to remember is dangerous, but he remembers the local wolf pack run by his mother's friend, Talia Hale.OrStiles' mother ran away from her family and the Argent legacy. When she and the sheriff die, Gerard is given custody over Stiles and raises him as a hunter.





	Silver and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Steter Network monthly prompt of 'Silver'.

Every single day, Stiles is reminded of who he is. "You're an Argent. You're made of silver and fire." He's been trained, honed to be deadly and vicious without remorse. He's been taught to kill monsters indiscriminately because they're volatile and dangerous and need to be put down. He's been taught hate and violence and rage.

The thing is, Stiles also remembers. He pretends he doesn't, because to remember is dangerous, but he remembers the local wolf pack run by his mother's friend, Talia Hale. He remembers playing with her children, chasing wolf pups around the yard and falling asleep in a puppy pile in the warm sun. He remembers Peter buying them all pizza and watching movies with them. He remembers feeling loved and cherished and safe.

He also remembers his mother getting sick. He remembers the doctors telling his father and him that there's nothing they can do. He remembers watching her slowly die and his father quickly start to drink. The accident is something that's foggy to him, but he remembers crawling out of the twisted wreck that was their car and being ripped away from his father's dead body by an EMT. 

Stiles' mother's family, family she's very carefully kept away from Stiles since he was born, steps forward and since Stiles has no one else, they're given custody of him. His grandfather's smile is wide, but his eyes are glittering and cold. Stiles tries to hide behind the social worker because he sees none of his mother in that face, but he's sent with him anyway. He's pulled out of his school, given only two trash bags to pack up his possessions, and dragged out of Beacon Hills without even getting to say goodbye to any of his friends.

He knows instinctually, even at only five-years-old, that some of his knowledge is dangerous, so he keeps it to himself. When he's questioned by Argent family members about his mother's connection to the Hales, he feigns ignorance and pretends he doesn't know who they are. When they ask about his mother, he doesn't have to fake the panic attacks that come. Therapists call it repression and trauma. The Argents buy it.

Stiles' uncle Chris isn't that bad, all things considered. He raises Allison to adhere strictly to the code and tries to keep her out of the messier parts of the family as much as possible. Stiles' aunt Kate, however, is a whole different animal. She'd drunk the Kool-Aid Gerard had fed her young, and her version of morality is very, very different than Stiles', or even Chris'.

There's something off about his grandfather and his aunt. Stiles doesn't know what it is, but he recognizes it right away. It doesn't matter how often Kate coos at him and tells him he's her favorite little nephew. It doesn't matter how Gerard will praise him. There's something wrong with them. Claudia and the Hales had always told him that he has good instincts and to trust them. So he plays possum, plays the obedient nephew and grandson. 

Stiles loves his cousin Allison. She has a wonderful, wide-eyed innocence that he lost when he watched both of his parents die, but she also still has the strength of an Argent. She's kind to Stiles when he comes to live with them at the Argent manor. There are plenty of Argents and Argent lackeys that pass through or stay at the house for a time, but Gerard, Kate, Chris, and Allison are the only full-time residents when Stiles is brought to them, and Allison is the only one that doesn't try to pry information from him. She sits with him quietly when they're told to play in the living room, never pressuring him or telling him what to do or how he should be feeling.

"Do you want to color with me?" she asks eventually. 

Stiles considers this, considers how nothing is being asked of him; instead, he's being asked what he wants. He nods.

Allison is his one solitude in his new life. She genuinely cares about him, and he cares about her right back. He doesn't have much left in this world, but he has his cousin and even as a child, he would do anything for her.

"I heard my Aunt Kate tell my dad that they're going to start us training," Allison tells him one evening when he's been with the Argents for almost a year.

"Training?" Stiles asks.

"Training us to be hunters," Allison says.

"Hunters of what?" Stiles asks.

He has to feign disbelief and shock when Allison tells him about werewolves because even though he loves her, he knows she loves her father and if he lets on that he already knows, he's sure it will get back to him. Unlike most of the Argents, Allison has more innate curiosity about the werewolves than hate. Stiles doesn't know if that has something to do with her age or her father or what, but Stiles tries to feed that, tries to coax it to grow. He carefully plants the idea that Kate, who has a great interest in Allison, isn't trustworthy. Nothing overt, never telling Allison straight out that there's something wrong with Kate, but Stiles doesn't want Allison to end up like her. Stiles thinks Chris might have some idea of what Stiles is thinking, but they seem to be of one mind in that area, so nothing is ever said.

Training is hell. The jerky, flailing motions he's had his whole life are beaten out of him until he's contained and precise. Training makes his movements silent and fluid, quick and snakelike. To Gerard, the panic attacks are a sign of weakness and he learns how to push through them until Gerard and Kate think he's 'cured' of them and he can break down alone later. He doesn't have the physical brawn some of the Argents do, especially not when they'd first started training him at the tender age of six, but he has speed and a not inconsiderable amount of power.

Stiles likes it best when he gets to join Chris in his training sessions with Allison. He doesn't teach her with brutality and fear, but with cool practicality. This is the problem, how do you solve it? Stiles knows Gerard thinks that Chris' method is soft, so Stiles isn't allowed to train with them often, but the most important things he's learned have been from Chris. 

"Again," Gerard will snap after knocking Stiles to the ground, cracking a rib and scraping his face against the concrete floor.

"Again," Kate will say when she snaps his wrist, telling him even when he's injured he has to keep fighting. She makes his spar even in his cast.

"Again," Gerard will say after drugging Stiles' food and tying his unconscious body to a chair, making him figure his own way out. He doesn't do it as fast as Kate had at his age.

"Again," Kate will say when Stiles' body is covered in bleeding cuts from the knife he hadn't been able to deflect all the way.

"Again," Chris will say calmly when Stiles' arrow lands just a hair left of center. He'll correct Stiles' stance firmly, but gently, adjust Stiles' grip, until he can hit the center of the target every time.

By eight, Stiles is an expert marksman with a bow and arrow. By ten, he's mastered most firearms. By twelve, he can hold his own in a knife fight with an Argent cousin that was in the Navy.

Stiles is thirteen when he's walking down the stairs of the grand Argent mansion in the middle of the night, needing a drink of water, when he hears Gerard talking to Kate in his study. He inches closer, always ready to gather information on the two worst Argents. It's then that he overhears Gerard talking about how he'd ordered the poisoning of the traitor Claudia, putting the hell that's been Stiles' life into motion. Gerard praises Kate for her execution of it, for making sure that no one knows she murdered her own sister.

Stiles creeps back to his room on silent feet. Stiles fights back hysterics, fights down the panic attack. He should have suspected. He should have known, but he was five, did his dad ever tell him what exactly was making his mom sick? Or did he just tell Stiles that they were going to lose her? Stiles should have known. It's too convenient, his mother dies, his father dies, and family Stiles has never met swoops down and takes him in out of the kindness of their hearts? Did they have something to do with his dad's accident, or did his father do that to himself?

For some ridiculous and childish reason reason (which should be understandable, Stiles is a child even though at times he doesn't feel like it), Stiles' mind goes to Gamora from the comics Gerard doesn't know he has. Stolen from her home and trained as a weapon. Lied to and abused. Raised by her enemies. But Stiles' enemies are his family, too. Stiles has to be careful, to keep his head down and make them think they've won, or else they'll kill him too.

At fifteen, Stiles is taken on his first hunt. He's told to strictly observe, to learn. He watches Gerard, still surprisingly spry for such an old, bitter fuck, herd two omegas into a trap deep in the woods of southern Wisconsin. He says they're feral, that they've killed two people already, but Stiles knows he's lying. He'd looked up the police reports before they'd come here and seen no suspicious deaths. When he sees the two werewolves, he knows they aren't feral. He's seen feral. Granted, it was when he was young and a rogue omega had tried to snatch Cora when they were playing, but he remembers it vividly. These two, a mother and daughter, are wild-eyed and their fangs are bared, but Stiles knows what a defensive posture is and what wild is. These two are scared. They're innocent and frightened. 

Gerard puts a bullet through the young girl's head first, then watches the mother howl in pain. She lunges at the nearest hunter, who drops here with a hit with the electric baton, holding it to her ribs until she's writhing in pain, then holding it there some more.

"You see, mindless animals," Gerard says to Stiles, clapping him on the shoulder as he walks by.

Oh, Stiles sees. 

He waits until he's alone in the hotel bathroom to vomit.

Next time, he doesn't get to just stand by and watch. Gerard presses a gun into his hand and tells him it's his kill. Gerard has never trusted Stiles, not fully. He's never been able to get over the five years of influence Claudia had had over her son, has never seen a loyal Argent, just the son of a traitor that he can use. So Stiles isn't surprised when the order comes with a gun pointed at his head. Kill him or I'll kill you. Stiles swallows hard and fires, a clean shot right between the eyes. The werewolf drops, dead before he hits the ground. Small mercies, Stiles supposes.

Gerard grins like he's won. 

Stiles is put on more hunts after that. He's the junior of the group, the lackey. He's heavily supervised because he's still green, still hasn't proven his worth. Some of the hunters he's sent out with see it as an irritation, but others are thrilled to have the grandson of the great Gerard Argent with them, ready to impress him so that Stiles will pass along word of how well they've done to the Argent patriarch. Stiles lets them think whatever they want. He doesn't speak to any of them unless it's necessary, doesn't trade stories on drives across state lines. He listens, he observes, and he remembers.

Stiles botches some of his hunts. A shot goes wide, an emitter isn't working properly, the mountain ash isn't pure. Gerard and Kate notice, because of course they do. They've seen him at the gun range, they know what he's capable of, but they can't prove that Stiles misses on purpose, especially when Stiles is very careful to make sure another hunter sees him stumble before missing the shot. He makes sure broken emitters end up in the stack they're bringing with them. He mixes in additives with the mountain ash in the canister. No one can prove it's him, but he can feel Gerard and Kate watching him. He can't have a mission go wrong every single time. Sometimes he has to kill.

On occasion, the werewolf they're hunting actually is feral. Stiles feels nothing but relief and he hates himself for it. He puts down the feral omegas quickly and efficiently. He doesn't feel bad in any way, and he hates himself for that, too.

Stiles and Allison have reputations by the time they're eighteen. They're both ruthless and talented. The future of the Argents. They aren't paired together often, but when they are, they're a sight to behold. They're both particularly good with supernatural creatures that aren't werewolves. They've stepped in for cases on demonic possessions, of violent hauntings, and murderous skinwalkers. Those, Stiles kills with no remorse. Stiles knows true evil, he sees it everyday in his own house (not home, never his home), and he doesn't hesitate to put it down. More often than not, it's Gerard's face his picture when he pulls the trigger or unsheaths his knife.

"Stiles," Allison says quietly, slipping into his room and closing the door without a sound. 

It's late, nearly 3:00 a.m. and she's just gotten back from a hunt. She's wearing all black, her long, dark hair pulled back into a braid. Her knives are still strapped to her thighs and her crossbow is in its holster on her back. She hasn't even put away her duffel bag yet, just sets it down next to the door. Stiles isn't asleep. He's following a string of mysterious deaths in eastern Louisiana. He thinks he might be sent there next and wants as much information as he can get, not just what Gerard deems pertinent. Stiles stands and crosses the room, tilting Allison's chin to the side to see a large bruise blossoming across her cheek, accompanied by an angry scrape.

"It's fine," Allison says, voice low as she tugs his hand away. "She was only six, Stiles. She's wasn't an omega, she was just a scared little kid, and Kate killed her."

"Fuck," Stiles curses.

"Kate doesn't care about the code. She just kills anyone and...god, Stiles, how many times has she done this?" Allison asks. "You believe me, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Stiles says. "Kate isn't...she's not..."

Stiles doesn't know how to say this. This a critical moment, he knows that, and what he says and does is going to have consequences. The wrong word and Allison will run to her dad, to Gerard. 

"You're hiding something from me, Stiles," Allison says, completely throwing Stiles for a loop.

"What?" he asks.

"You're hiding something from me, you've always been holding something back," Allison says. "Please, tell me. I'm ready to know."

"Allison..."

"Is it about the Hales?" Allison asks.

Stiles stills, his mouth opening slightly in shock. "What?" he asks. His mouth is dry, making his words come out rougher than he'd intended.

"Kate was driving back tonight and thought I was asleep. She was on the phone with Grandpa. They were talking about going after the Hales and she asked if there's any way to use you to get to them," Allison says. "Who are the Hales?"

"Oh god," Stiles says. 

He staggers back a few steps and collapses onto his desk chair. He's kept a very close eye on Beacon Hills over the years. There have never been any hints, not even a _whisper_ of anything going on there. There's been no chatter of a hunting party going to Hale land in the thirteen years he's been gone. Not until now. Stiles is fighting for breath, fighting to remember how to stave off the panic attacks he used to get as a kid. Allison is talking to him, he thinks she's calling his name, but he can't be sure. Everything sounds like it's coming from far away and all he can hear is the blood in his ears and a voice that sounds like Gerard saying that all the Hales, the ones Stiles has guarded close to his heart his entire life, are going to die. 

There's a sharp pain in his arm and Stiles looks down to see Allison kneeling next to him, digging her nail into his arm hard enough to draw blood. The pain helps him focus, helps him push past his horror and fear. He takes a big gasp of air, then another, willing his breathing to even out.

"Stiles..." Allison says. "Are you okay?"

"The Hales...were my friends," Stiles says. Allison's eyes widen. "They're the local pack in Beacon Hills. My mom was friends with their alpha and I would play with their kids. God, we would chase each other around and they were in the wolf form like overgrown puppies. My mom, dad, and I would go over there on full moons and drink hot chocolate and watch them all run in the woods. And when they were tired we'd all lie outside under the stars and my mom would show us the constellations."

"I've never heard you talk about your mom before," Allison says softly. 

"Talia tried to get custody of me," Stiles tells her. "She's my godmother and I basically spent all my time over there anyway. But Gerard came in and basically forced social services to give me to him."

"Is that why you've never called him Grandpa?" Allison asks. 

"He killed my mom," Stiles whispers harshly. "He had Kate poison her. There's something wrong with him, Ally, you have to see that. He's going to go after the Hales and they're innocent! They've never hurt anyone. I've watched Beacon Hills for over a decade and there's been nothing! Talia controls her territory with an iron fist, there's absolutely no reason to go in there other than cold-blooded murder."

"I believe you," Allison says. She takes Stiles' hands and it's only then that he realizes they're shaking. "I believe you, Stiles. What do you want to do? Do we go to my dad?"

"No," Stiles says immediately ."I know you love your dad, Allison, but you know he won't defy Gerard, not for a bunch of wolves he doesn't know just on my word."

"Then grab your go-bag," Allison says. "We're leaving."

"What? Beacon Hills is a thirteen-hour drive away," Stiles says. 

Thirteen hours and seventeen minutes with good traffic. Stiles know, he's stared at GoogleMaps for hours wishing he could just go, but he'd known others would come looking for him and he couldn't risk bringing them to Beacon Hills. It looks like he doesn't have a choice anymore. 

"Then we'd better get a move on," Allison says.

"I can't ask you to come," Stiles says. 

"You don't have to," Allison says. 

"You'll be branded a traitor," Stiles says. "They'll come after you with all the Argent wrath."

"Let them come," Allison says. "I don't care. They lost all loyalty from me the day the murdered innocent children. And the day they hurt you." 

Stiles studies her for a long time and sees nothing but determination and righteous anger. He nods slowly.

"Okay," Stiles says. "Okay. Grab anything you want to keep, we probably won't ever be back here. I'll meet you in five minutes at the back door."

Allison nods and stands, giving his hand a tight squeeze before silently slipping out of his room. Stiles takes a deep, steadying breath, then gets to work. He leaves his laptop but takes his external hard drive that contains everything he knows about the supernatural and, more importantly, about the Argents. His black duffel bag is already packed with the basic necessities, so he adds a few extra weapons, all the cash he has stashed around the room, and the only picture he has of his family, the one he hid from Gerard and kept taped behind the back of his desk drawer. 

Stiles has been sneaking around the Argent manor for years, but tonight is different. Tonight every cell in his body is on high alert. He's positive at any moment, one of the many doors lining the hallway is going to open and it'll all be over. He's sure that every corner he rounds is going to have Kate or Gerard waiting for him. He hears low voices from Gerard's study when he creeps by, but he can't make out what they're saying and he doesn't linger long enough to be found out. 

Allison is waiting for him next to the door that leads to the backyard. She's changed into clothes that aren't sweat-soaked from hunting and has her bag in her hand. The door itself is creaky, so they go out one of the windows instead. They keep to the shadows, sliding into the trees next to the house as soon as possible. The manor is situated on a huge fifteen acres of land, most of it dense trees so the hunters can train without being seen by nosy neighbors or cars driving by. They pick their way through the woods, carefully avoiding the traps set out to catch anyone sneaking onto the property. They head to the very back of the lot and hop the fence that separates the house from the road. 

They run west, weaving through different alleys and backyards to make sure they aren't being followed, until they come to a parking garage a few miles away.

"Are we stealing a car?" Allison asks when they stop in front of a nondescript white Camry.

"No," Stiles says. He reaches into the wheel well and fishes around for a moment before coming up with a key that had been taped in place. "This is mine. I've had it sitting here for a while. Just in case."

"Smart," Allison says. They both ignore the question Stiles can see on the tip on her tongue, the one that asks if he would have left without saying goodbye to her. 

They load their bags and speed off into the dark. It's 4:22 a.m. and the roads are blessedly clear.

"Give me your phone," Stiles says when they're close to the edge of town.

"Why?"

"They could use it to track us," Stiles says. "We're going to send them on a wild goose chase."

Stiles' one stop on the way out of town is a truck stop. He hides the phone in the back of a semi truck that's heading east, then they speed south toward California. 

Neither of them talk for the first few hours. Allison dozes a bit and Stiles lets her. It's going to be a long drive and at least one of them should get some rest. She wakes up around six when Stiles stops for coffee at a rest stop and offers to drive for a bit so he can sleep. He tells her it's fine, he can keep going for a bit longer. She looks like she wants to argue, but she lets it go. 

Four hours in and a few coffees and power bars down, he feels Allison's gaze move from the road in front of them to his face. It takes her a few minutes to speak and when she does, her voice is quiet.

"When did you find out Gerard and Kate killed your mom?" Allison asks.

Stiles swallows hard. "Five years ago," he says, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Allison asks and she sounds close to tears. "Did you think I wouldn't believe you?"

"I don't know," Stiles says. "You knowing would have been dangerous to both of us."

"So you kept that inside for five years?"

"I didn't know who to trust."

Allison flinches at that and Stiles almost regrets his words, but it's true. He loves Allison, but Allison has blood on her hands just like he does. She was raised as an Argent and as much as he had wanted to trust her, he didn't know how deep that conditioning ran. Allison doesn't say anything, but she reaches out and rests her hand over his where it's resting on the gear shift. He twists his hand to wrap their fingers together.

"Tell me about them," Allison says.

"The Hales?"

"The Hales, your parents," Allison says. "Tell me about them."

"Talia, she was the alpha. Very smart, very badass, but she loved her pack and would do anything for them. Her brother Peter was a total sarcastic asshole. He loved to mess with everyone, but he was always ready to throw down if someone threatened any of us. God, five-year-old me had the biggest crush on him, it was awful. Laura and Derek were twins, a few years older than me. Laura used to get Derek really riled up so he'd chase her and she'd lead him through the preserve until he fell in the lake. Cora was my age and pretty much my best friend. We had all our classes together since preschool. She punched a kid in the face once when he made fun of my stutter," Stiles says. "We drove up to a cabin on the coast one year to watch the fireworks. A lot of the pack went and we just had this massive picnic with volleyball and three-legged races and croquet. I remember telling my mom I wanted to be in a pack when I grew up. She told me, 'You already are in one, silly'."

"They sound wonderful," Allison says softly, her hand tightening around his. "I'm sorry you lost that."

"Me too," Stiles says. "My mom, uh, she taught second grade. My dad was the sheriff and when he was at work, my mom and I would draw pictures for him and make him lunch to bring to the station. He'd let me hang out there sometimes and once I accidentally handcuffed myself to a bench."

Allison laughs. Stiles tells her everything, every little memory he's been too afraid to write down for the last thirteen years in case someone found it. He tells her everything he remembers about his parents and some things he hadn't even realized he'd known, like the fact that his mother's favorite pie had been pumpkin and that his dad used to collect bicentennial quarters. At some point he cries, tears falling silently down his cheeks as he talks, but he doesn't bother wiping them away, just keeps holding onto Allison's hand like she's the only thing grounding him. Which really, is true. As of right now, she's literally all he has in the world.

They switch drivers when they're about five hours out of San Francisco, six-and-a-half from Beacon Hills. Stiles manages to sleep for an hour and a half, but he's never been good at sleeping in cars. They hit traffic passing through San Francisco and it puts Stiles even more on edge than he had been. The anxiety has been gnawing at him since they left. He's been constantly looking over his shoulder for one of the black Argent SUVs to run them off the road. Talking about his family and the Hales had helped keep that at bay, but now that they're stuck in a bumper-to-bumper mess, it's back full-force.

"They probably know where we're going," Stiles says. "The phone decoy might have bought us an hour's head start."

"Probably," Allison agrees. "They'll put two and two together pretty fast."

"We can't - Allison, we have to get there first. What if they got a flight and beat us? What if we get there and it's too late?" Stiles says.

"They won't have flown, you know that," Allison says. "They never fly, not with the kind of weaponry they need to haul on jobs."

It calms Stiles a bit to hear Allison refer to the Argents as 'they' instead of including herself with them. And she's right. They always drive to their hunts, Stiles knows that. But it's still a hard fear to shake that after all this, they're going to be too late.

"I don't know if they'll even recognize me," Stiles says quietly. "I haven't seen any of them since I was five."

"They will," Allison says. "Even if they can't see it, they'll be able to tell by your scent, right?"

"I hope so," Stiles says. "But part of our scent is our environment. They're going to smell guns, wolfsbane, and mountain ash. Even if they recognize me, who's the say they'll trust me?"

Allison doesn't have anything to say to that. 

Stiles takes over driving when they reach the edge of Beacon County, needing something to do with his hands. He doesn't recognize the road into the town, but as soon as they hit the Welcome to Beacon Hills sign, Stiles remembers the Dairy Queen on the corner that's now a dentist's office. The houses are different colors than he remembers and there are new buildings here and there, but he remembers this place. He's never been somewhere that feels so strange and at the same time so familiar. 

They have to drive through the center of Beacon Hills, past the the sheriff's station (and that makes Stiles' heart pang in his chest), and to the edge of the town to get to the Hales' house. Their home is deep in the preserve and it takes a bit of driving on a gravel road until they hit the beginning of the driveway. Stiles' heart is nearly beating out of his chest as he drives past the large rock that marks the start of the Hales' property. His grip is tight on the steering wheel as he drives slowly down the driveway. If anyone's home, they must have heard the car by now and know someone is coming. It doesn't make the weight sitting in his stomach lessen.

They pull into a clearing and Stiles' heart nearly stops. The house is exactly as Stiles remembers and he lets out a shuddering breath. The shutters, the porch, even the rose garden, all exactly the same. He parks the car and he and Allison glance at each other before climbing out of the car. As soon as they close the car door, there's movement in the trees next to the house. Stiles has left his gun in his bag, but he still has his knife and he fights the urge to reach for it. 

A man emerges from the trees and it takes Stiles a second to realize he's looking at Peter Hale. He's older, in his late twenties now, and has a goatee. He's broader than he used to be, stronger, but Stiles would recognize those eyes and that jawline anywhere. But that doesn't mean Peter recognizes him. Stiles has no idea what to say, how to introduce himself as someone that had been dragged off over a decade ago. He doesn't have to. Recognition flickers across Peter's face and the cool, dangerous expression he'd had wavers into one of surprise.

"Stiles?" Peter asks.

Stiles almost sobs at hearing his name in the voice of a man he'd thought he'd never see again. He'd imagined all of them in his head for so long that he'd been starting to forget. Stiles nods rapidly.

"Yeah," he says, voice rough. "It's me."

Peter crosses the distance between them and yanks Stiles to him, wrapping his arms around him tightly and burying his face in Stiles' neck. Stiles does cry then, wet heaving sobs as he clings desperately to Peter, like if he doesn't, he'll slip away and this will all have been some horrible trick of his mind. Peter pulls back and cradles Stiles' face between his hands, staring at him as if to memorize his face. 

"You're taller," Peter finally says. 

Stiles laughs wetly. "You've got facial hair."

Peter laughs at that. He looks over Stiles' shoulder at Allison. When Stiles turns, he sees that she's crying, too, looking at them with such heartbreak on her face.

"This is my cousin, Allison. Allison, this is Peter," Stiles says. 

Allison waves a bit awkwardly and Peter nods, but his eyes drift back to Stiles. 

"How?" Peter asks.

"It's a long story," Stiles says. "And I promise I'll tell it, but I need to talk to Talia right now. Gerard Argent is coming for you."

Peter's face hardens. 

"You're sure?" he asks.

Stiles glances over at Allison, who steps forward.

"I'm sure. I heard Kate on the phone with him last night," Allison says.

"Okay," Peter says. "Come inside."

Stiles' heart pangs in his chest when Peter leads them inside the house. The couch is new and the family pictures on the wall are updated, but the rest of the room is heartbreakingly unchanged. Allison nudges his arm and nods towards one of the pictures on the mantel. It's a young Stiles with his parents surrounded by the pack. Stiles' eyes sting. 

Peter calls Talia, who's out with Laura and Laura's kids (Laura has _kids_ now). Some of the pack that had been home when Peter heard the strange car approaching had hid in the tunnels under the house. With them are Derek and Cora and as much as Stiles wants to fling himself at them and hug them until he can't breathe, they're eyeing him warily and Stiles, well, he can't say he blames them, but it still hurts. Only the Hales stay with Stiles and Allison in Talia's study, the rest of the pack scattered throughout the house and told to be on alert.

No one talks for the ten minutes it takes for Talia and Laura to get home. Stiles wants to. He wants to ask how they've been. He wants to know what's going on with the pack, who's married, what's been happening the last thirteen years, but he doesn't know how to break the silence. 

Talia looks as regal as always when she sweeps into the room. Her hair has a bit more gray and there are more lines at the corners of her eyes, but other than that she looks exactly the same. She's wearing a guarded expression, which Stiles can't blame her for really, but Laura is glaring at him with open hostility.

"It's really you," Talia says. 

"Yeah," Stiles says. "I'm sorry for just barging in, but Gerard Argent has his sights set on you."

"How do you know?" Talia asks.

"Allison heard Kate talking to him about it," Stiles says.

"And Allison is?" Talia asks.

"Allison Argent," Allison says. "I'm Stiles' cousin."

"Stiles is an Argent?" Laura hisses. 

"His mother was," Talia says.

"You knew?" 

"Of course I knew. She was my best friend," Talia says. She turns to Stiles, eyes pained. "When your dad died, we tried to get custody of you. But your grandfather..."

"I know," Stiles says. "And I need you to believe me, he is the worst kind of evil imaginable and he's coming here."

"Gerard Argent has a peace summit with alphas in the area coming up in a week's time," Talia says.

"It's a trap, I promise you that," Stiles says. 

"Why are we supposed to believe him?" Laura says. 

"Because he wouldn't lie to us!" Cora says. She's been silent up until now, but hers eyes are hard and she's glaring at Laura.

"We knew him over a decade ago. He was raised by hunters. For all we know, he's the trap," Laura says.

"Stiles wouldn't do that!"

"The Stiles you knew was a five-year-old child!" Laura says. "And we shouldn't be putting our trust in him!"

"Listen to his heartbeat, he isn't lying!"

"Hunters can learn to lie without their heart giving them away!"

This is devolving fast and really, they've wasted enough time. They don't have more to spend squabbling over whether Stiles and Allison are evil. Stiles looks at Talia, who's studying him consideringly. Peter has entered Cora and Laura's argument. Derek is silent, but watching them all with rapt attention. Allison touches Stiles' hand and he glances at her.

"Don't freak out, okay?" Stiles says.

"Freak out about what?" Allison asks.

Stiles doesn't answer. He turns to Talia instead. She's the one he needs to convince anyway.

"Do the neck thing," Stiles says. Talia's eyes widen. Peter, Laura, and Cora fall silent. "Do it now. I can't express how short on time we are. I'm not lying. Stick those alpha claws in my neck and you'll see."

"What do you mean, claws in the neck?" Allison asks.

"It's fine, Ally, I promise," Stiles says. "Please," he says to Talia. 

Talia nods and steps forward. Stiles turns around, even though instinct is telling him never to turn his back to a predator. He takes a deep breath and Talia plunges her claws into the back of his neck. 

Memories bubble to the surface, most of which he'd tried to repress, but that doesn't matter when an alpha is sifting through your mind. He gets a flash of being thrown into the Argent cellar with nothing but moldy bread and a half-empty bottle of water. He was there for three days until he figured out how to escape. That memory bleeds into Stiles being thrown to the ground in training with Gerard. That morphs into Kate throwing out all the pictures Stiles had saved of his mom and dad. Kate breaking his arm. Gerard beating him for crying. Gerard holding him underwater, the pure terror as water filled his lungs. 

Then it's Allison telling him what she overheard. It's Stiles breaking down, confessing he knows the Hales. It's Allison and him running, it's them driving at breakneck speeds to get here. It's Stiles' raw fear that they would be too late, that the Hales would be slaughtered by the time the arrive.

Talia's claws retract from his neck and Stiles lurches back to reality. His eyes are blurry for a second and the first thing he sees is Peter holding Allison back from charging at him. 

"I'm okay, Ally," Stiles says. Peter lets her go and she launches herself forward, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"A little warning next time?" she asks.

"I told you not to freak out," Stiles says.

"Yeah, big help that was," Allison says.

"Is he telling the truth?" Laura asks. 

Stiles turns and sees tears in Talia's eyes. She rushes forward and tugs him into a hug. Stiles shudders in her arms. He doesn't remember the last time he'd had a proper hug from a mother figure. He's hugged Allison, but this is the enveloping hug of a mom, even if she hadn't been his.

"I'm so sorry all of that happened to you. I am so sorry you had to go through that," Talia says. "We should have found a way to get you, we should have come for you."

"There's nothing you could have done," Stiles says. "It would have been seen as an act of war."

"We still should have," Talia says. She wipes her eyes and steps back, regaining composure. "He isn't lying. We need to prepare."

"Do you know how they'll try to hit us?" Peter asks.

"We have some ideas," Stiles says. "I need a map of the preserve and a laptop."

"Laura, take the kids and the non-combatant pack members to the safe house in Beacon Ridge," Talia says. "Use the back roads and stay on alert."

Laura nods and sweeps from the room with barely a glance at Stiles and Allison.

"We have some equipment in the car," Stiles says. "We'll be right back."

In addition to their duffel bags, Stiles had stashed various weapons in the car when he'd first bought it, wanting to have as many options as possible when he inevitably escaped the Argents for good. It amounts to two large, heavy bags full of guns, claymores, crossbows, ammo, and various other equipment needed to set traps. He leaves the wolfsbane in the car.

When he and Allison are loaded up and turn to head back inside, they find Laura blocking their path, a line of young and elderly pack members loading up in cars behind her.

"Why are you here?" Laura asks, eyes on Allison. "I can get why Stiles came. Why did you?" 

"We have a code, and they aren't following it anymore," Allison says.

"Yeah? And how many innocent lives did you take until you figured that out?" Laura asks.

"I don't know," Allison says quietly. "Too many."

"We've done things we aren't proud of. There are things I've done that I will never be clean of and when this is done, if your pack wants me gone and to never see me again, that's fine. But I'm here because I love you all and I'm going to do everything I can to keep you safe," Stiles says.

Laura's expression cracks a bit and she nods. She turns and makes her way to where two young boys are waiting for her next to a silver sedan. She doesn't glance at them again.

Inside, a map of the preserve is rolled out on Talia's mahogany desk and a laptop is set off to the side. Peter, Talia, Derek, and Cora are surrounding it. Allison and Stiles set down their bags and make their way over and Peter hands Stiles a pen without being asked. Stiles studies it for a few moments, humming under his breath.

"So, there are access roads here and here, right?" he asks, pointing to two spots on the map. 

"Not the one on the east," Peter says. "The road was washed away in a mud slide a couple years ago. It's impossible to get through that way, even off roading."

"Good," Stiles says. "So they'd have to come up the driveway or the west access road two miles up and hike through the preserve to get here."

"Or both," Allison says. "Sometimes if the target is large, they'll set up a small assault as a diversion, then lead a bigger team in from another direction while they're distracted."

"True," Stiles says, uncapping the pen and hover over the map. "All right. They'll probably head parallel to the stream first. We plant the claymores here, here, and here. That'll force them the spread out at the very least, and hopefully will at least take a few of them out."

"It's a good bet they know you're here. Won't they be looking for traps?" Peter asks.

"Probably," Stiles says. "But Allison and I are very good at what we do. Just because they're looking, doesn't mean they'll find any."

"We can lay a few false trip wires that are easy to see. It'll make them overconfident and not ready for any different traps," Allison says.

"Does your emissary have wards up in the preserve?" Stiles asks.

"No," Talia says, shaking her head. "He put protection on the house. It's possible to ward whole preserves?"

"It depends on how powerful the druid is," Stiles says. "Most can't do much more than a glorified alarm system for something that big, but we had a darach in Louisiana that had wards powerful enough that no one could physically enter the town."

"I'll call him, see what he can do," Talia says.

"Good," Stiles says. "The smart thing to do would be to use long-distance weapons, but Kate and Gerard prefer an up close and personal kill, so I expect that's more what we should expect."

"Stiles and I can take positions on the roof or if there are strong enough trees and pick them off one-by-one as they approach," Allison says.

"They probably won't have emitters since they aren't trying to take you out on the run, but if you hear a high-pitched noise, it's them trying to try to herd you in the direction they want. I know it sounds counterintuitive and will probably hurt like a bitch, but running toward the sound and not away from it will be safer," Stiles says.

"We can scatter throughout the preserve and take them out as they come instead of waiting for them to get here," Talia says.

"That's up to you," Stiles says. "It depends on how many people they have. It's your call if you want to go that way."

"We can plan all we want, but if they get here before we can even set the claymores, this is all for nothing," Allison says.

"Yeah. Hand me the laptop?" Stiles says.

Cora passes it to him and Stiles opens up a new browser window. There are plenty of online communities of hunters if you know where to look. Opening one forum, there's chatter up and down the west coast of Argents mobilizing and heading south. It could be true that they're bringing a dozen-person team with them, but it's also probable that that's a lie spread by Gerard to make them underestimate him.

The thing is, there is also a strong supernatural presence online and Stiles had made friends with plenty of them (not telling them he's an Argent, he's not stupid). Three separate people (a witch, a werewolf, and the guardian of a nymph) report Argent forces heading out of Oregon less than an hour ago. 

"Okay, if what my sources tell me is true, and I believe it is, we have about four or five hours until they're here," Stiles says. "Let's get set up."

It's still light, though dusk is quickly approaching, as Allison and Stiles weave through the preserve with Peter at their side. He helps guide them and watching with intense curiosity as Stiles and Allison set the mines, trip wires, and lay a false trail. He claws up trees where they tell him to, hoping to draw at least one or two hunters into a bear trap.

They run into Talia and her emissary on the way back to the house after laying the last of the explosives. Deaton assess Stiles and Allison with an obnoxiously vague expression, but Stiles barely gives him a second glance. If Talia has to ask him to ward the property instead of him offering, he's either incompetent, lazy, or both. 

Stiles and Allison set up perches in trees about two hundred yards from the house. They'll start their with long-distance rifles and take out who they can, then make their way back to the Hale house for an up close defense if necessary. 

By Stiles' estimate, they have around an hour until the Argents hit Beacon Hills, so about a half hour until he and Allison need to be in their perches. They're doubling checking their weapons in the living room of the Hale house with Peter and Cora when both wolves still. Stiles and Allison stand immediately, tightening their grips on their guns.

"What is it?" Stiles asks.

"There's a car coming down the driveway," Peter says. "Making no effort at all to be quiet."

"What do you mean?" Stiles asks.

"It's blasting country music," Cora says, looking bewildered. 

Stiles and Allison glance at each other. The odds of a random country fan coming down the Hale driveway while they're waiting on an attack? Not likely. Whoever it is wants to make their presence known.

"Come on," Stiles says to Allison. 

They're out the front door in seconds, Peter and Cora following close behind, and melt into the trees lining the driveway. They wait until the car's headlights pull into view. It's driving slow, less than ten miles an hour, trying very hard to make sure they know it's there. It stops right at the end of the driveway and Allison tenses. Chris Argent steps out, hands up. He glances around him like he knows they're there, and slowly starts to walk forward. 

Stiles raises his pistol and slips silently out of the trees, Allison following a second later. Chris stops when he sees them, looking pained. He keeps his hands raised, even when Cora and Peter step out of the darkness behind Stiles and Allison.

"What are you doing here?" Allison asks. Stiles is proud of how steady her voice is.

"I could ask you two the same thing," Chris says. "Gerard's put a bounty on your heads."

"Here to collect?" Stiles asks.

"Do you really think I'd kill my own daughter?" Chris asks.

"Your dad killed his, it wouldn't be a stretch," Stiles says.

Chris' eyes widen. Stiles had suspected he had no idea before now, so at least that's something. 

"What are you talking about?" Chris asks.

"Gerard had Kate poison my mom. He killed your sister in cold blood for leaving the Argent legacy behind her," Stiles says.

Stiles expects Chris to protest, to at least try to fight what Stiles is telling him, but instead he just looks sad.

"They don't follow the code, Dad. I watched Kate kill a six-year-old girl last night, do you know what she said after?" Allison asks. Chris shakes his head. "She said, 'I like when I get them young. Their cries are prettier'. Then she laughed. She laughed over the body of a child who'd done nothing wrong."

"What are you doing here, Chris? We aren't leaving. Ally heard Kate say they're coming after the Hales and there's no way in hell I'm letting that happen," Stiles says.

"I'm not here to stop you," Chris says.

"What, you expect me to believe you want to help?" Stiles asks scathingly. "You think werewolves are dogs, right?"

Peter and Cora growl lowly from behind him. 

"You know that's not true. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent," Chris says. "We hunt those who hunt us."

"Maybe you do. But they don't," Stiles says. "You said it yourself, they put a bounty on us for having the audacity to object to cold-blooded murder. This isn't something you get to be neutral on. You pick your daughter, or your psychopathic father and sister."

"Why do you think I'm here alone?" Chris says. "I left as soon as I heard he was mobilizing. Can you stop pointing your guns at me now?"

"Like I said, I'm not leaving, so if getting me and running was your plan, I'd rethink that," Allison says. She lowers her gun. Stiles doesn't. "This is the line in the sand, Dad. You either help us or you leave. And if you go...if you go, I don't know how hard I'll try to find you when this is done."

Chris is quiet for a few moments, regarding them closely. Stiles is under no illusions. If it weren't for Allison, Chris wouldn't be here. He might not be with Gerard and his hunting party, but he wouldn't be trying to stop them either. His code only carries him so far.

"Where do you need me?" Chris finally asks.

Stiles lowers his gun and lets Allison talk in low voices to her father, stepping away to scan the trees and given them some space. Cora watches them warily, but doesn't say anything. Peter comes to stand beside Stiles. Stiles can feel Peter's eyes on him, feel the supernatural warmth Peter's body gives off, but he doesn't look his way.

"We've missed you," Peter says quietly. Stiles inhales sharply. "You look so much like your mother."

"I didn't know if you'd recognize me," Stiles admits, voice equally low.

"We could never forget you," Peter says. He wraps his hand around Stiles' squeezing tightly. Stiles has all but forgotten what it's like to be with tactile people, people who touch him without the intent to harm, and almost jerks away. "I don't know what you've been through, but when this is over, I'd be happy to listen to whatever you need to say."

"You're not going to want me to stay around after this," Stiles says. "I've done some horrible things."

"We all have," Peter says. 

"Not like this," Stiles says. "I'm not talking something I'm mildly ashamed of. I deserve to die over and over."

"Do you know what my role in the pack is?" Peter asks.

Stiles frowns at that. Peter was barely a teenager when Stiles' parents had died. As far as he'd known, Peter was an average beta.

"Are you Talia's right hand?" Stiles asks.

"No," Peter says and shakes his head. "Her left."

"I'm not sure what that is," Stiles says. 

"I'd be surprised if you did, it's not something that's commonly talked about, even in the werewolf community," Peter says. "The left hand does the dirty work that alpha can't or won't. They work behind the scenes, eliminating threats before they can become dangerous. Glorified hit men at times. Believe me Stiles, I know something about doing horrible things."

"Oh."

"I don't know what you had to do, but you did it to survive," Peter says.

"How could you possibly know that?" Stiles asks.

"Intuition," Peter says.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

"You always told us that intuition was a fancy way of people saying they don't know what they're talking about," Stiles says.

"Call it instinct, then," Peter says. "I'm sure you remember what I said about that?"

Stiles doesn't say anything. He looks up when Allison and Chris stop talking. 

"Dad's taking the eastern perch," Allison says.

"Okay," Stiles says. "You take the west, I'll find a different position."

"Be careful," Allison says.

"You too. Don't shoot me in the head," Stiles says. He turns to Peter and Cora while Allison and Chris grab their weapons and slip into the trees. "Be careful, okay? I didn't come all the way back here just to watch you die."

Cora purses her lips, then flings herself forward, catching him in a tight hug. 

"We just got you back," she says, rubbing her cheek against his. "Don't do anything stupid."

Stiles swallows and nods. Peter grips the back of Stiles' neck when Cora pulls away and presses their foreheads together. Stiles closes his eyes and sighs.

"We'll talk when this is over," Peter says.

"I'm serious," Cora says. "Nothing stupid."

Stiles nods. He doesn't tell them that he'll happily die tonight if it means keeping them safe.

The preserve is dark, but even though it's been years, Stiles still knows it like the back of his hand. Trees will be down in places and once in a while a new path has sprung up, but he knows the terrain, he knows where the river runs and where the rocks tend to slide when it gets wet. He uses it to his advantage, flowing through the trees like he's the wolf. He finds a sturdy tree with enough cover and strong enough limbs for him to climb up. He's only been in position for a few minutes before an explosion in the distance shatters the silence. That's one claymore. 

It's a few more minutes until the next claymore goes off. Stiles waits and forces himself to be calm, to not let his anxiety run away with him. He has people depending on him and he's not going to let them get slaughtered because he's a little jumpy. 

There's movement in the distance and when he adjusts his scope, Stiles can see a hunter stealthily making their way between two trees. It's Martinez, one of Kate's favorites. Stiles takes aim and fires. One shot, and he drops. A few seconds later, Olivier. Stiles watched him cut a pregnant woman in half. One shot. He can hear Allison and Chris firing in the distance. He's counted eight shots between them. Eight down. Then the second claymore goes off and hunters start avoiding where their comrades have fallen, so Stiles knows it's time to move. 

He sneaks up and slits the throats of Hendrix and Calloway. He throws a grenade into Max, Cobb, and Hart. He feels nothing.

A loud howl comes from the house and Stiles don't even think, just turns and runs through the trees. He meets one more hunter in the woods, a big, mean fuck named Benny that he's always hated, even since he was a child. It's immensely satisfying to watch him drop with a bullet clean through his head.

Allison and Chris are already in the clearing by the Hale house, both fighting two hunters at once. Talia's ripping through a man who'd nearly shot her full of wolfsbane. Peter and Cora are back-to-back, facing off against a pair of hunters with flamethrowers (the Aaron twins, the fucks). Stiles doesn't think, just draws his pistol and shoots the first Aaron twin dead, the second dropping only moments later. Peter spares him a brief nod, then takes off to pull a manic man with a knife off of Derek.

"Gerard isn't here!" Stiles shouts to Allison.

"Kate isn't, either!" Allison calls back, landing a vicious blow to Cameron's face. 

No, that's not right. The should be here, there's no way they would miss this. They would want to punish the prodigal Argents themselves. It's then that the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck stand straight on end. He doesn't know how he knows it, but he flings himself to the side, the bullet that was meant for his heart barely grazing his arm. Stiles rolls to his feet, gun trained on the cold face of Gerard Argent. Stiles has been counting his shots, he knows his gun's clip is empty, but Gerard doesn't and as long as Stiles keeps his gun trained on him, he'll continue to be cautious. 

"I should have drowned you when I first brought you in!" Gerard says. "You were born tainted from your tainted whore mother!"

Stiles doesn't so much as flinch. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, the words certainly aren't going to bother him now. There's a yelp somewhere to Stiles' left that sounds a lot like Peter, and a laugh that Stiles knows is Kate's. 

"Why now?" Stiles asks, trying to buy time. "The Hales have been here for years. Why did you come after them now?"

"Partly because of the upcoming peace summit. The Hales and their potential allies would be too powerful to be allowed," Gerard says.

"And the other part?"

"I wanted to see what you would do," Gerard says. "And Stiles, hurting you has always been so much fun."

The sound of Kate's taunts turning into screams as Allison empties her gun into her chest take Gerard's attention, giving Stiles his opening. Gerard is strong, even for an old man, but he's lost his edge with hand-to-hand as he's aged, almost relying entirely on distance weapons. Stiles is able to knock Gerard's gun away and kick his body to the ground. Part of Stiles wants to beat Gerard the way he's beaten him since he was a child. He wants Gerard to feel every broken bone and every puncture wound. He wants to take his time, to turn Gerard into nothing that resembles a human being at all. But more than that, he just wants Gerard gone.

"You don't have the guts," Gerard hisses.

They're his last words. Stiles pulls his bowie knife from its sheath and opens Gerard up from navel to sternum, relishing the warm flow of blood flowing over his hands and the screams yanked from Gerard's lips. Stiles has never enjoyed killing before now. It's a bit anticlimactic in the end, watching the man who ruined his life bleed out and die. Gerard's face in twisted in hate and pain, but there's also fear. Stiles treasures it. He thought he would feel something more when Gerard takes his last breath. Maybe vindication or triumph, but he doesn't. He just feels relief. 

The battle around them is done, the clearing quiet except for ragged breathing. Stiles stands slowly, covered in Gerard's blood, to see all eyes on him. Peter's arm is ragged, like a knife had been dragged through it over and over again, but it's healing. Cora's bleeding from a cut near her temple and Derek's arm is bent at an awkward angle. Chris is wild-eyed and breathing harshly, eyes flickering between the bodies of his sister and father, but he seems to be all right. Well, as all right as Stiles really cares about. He's not particularly fussed with his mental state. Allison is leaning over Talia, helping the alpha to her feet after successfully burning the wolfsbane out of three gunshot wounds.

"You're hurt," Peter says, stepping toward him. 

"You're one to talk," Stiles says, nodding to Peter's arm. "It's nothing. The bullet grazed me."

It really hits Stiles then that it's done. Gerard is dead, Kate is dead. The Hales are alive, relatively healthy, and whole. The two dreams he's had since he was taken from his home, ending Gerard and seeing the Hales again, he's realized both. He lets out a harsh laugh that turns into a sob and his legs give out, sending him to his knees. Allison is over in a heartbeat, gathering him into her arms. He holds her tightly and buries his tears in her shoulder and she whispers quiet reassurances. Talia draws the Hales away, letting them have their moment in peace, which Stiles appreciates. 

Peter comes back a few minutes later with a warm, wet towel. He kneels next to Allison and Stiles and reaches out for Stiles' hand, waiting calmly until Stiles gives it. Peter wipes Gerard's blood from his hand and arm with soft, soothing motions before moving on to the other arm. He cleans the blood from the bullet wound on Stiles' bicep, which is starting to sting a lot more now that the adrenaline is wearing off. He apologizes when Stiles winces in pain, but doesn't stop. 

"Come inside, we have some spare clothes you can wear," Peter says.

"We need to help with body disposal," Stiles says.

"We've got it," Peter says. "It'll be quicker for us to do anyway."

After two very short showers, Allison and Stiles change into the clothes Peter left out for them. Allison waits right outside the bathroom door for Stiles to finish and he does the same for her. Peter's not there when they venture back out into the living room, but Derek is.

"We have a guest room ready so you can get some sleep," Derek says.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," Stiles says.

"We've been awake for over thirty-six hours," Allison says. "I think exhaustion might win out."

"I'd rather wait until everyone's back," Stiles says.

Derek doesn't argue, just sits with them in living room waiting for the pack and Chris to be done getting rid of the hunter bodies. Despite what he'd said, Allison is right. He's been running on anxiety, anger, and determination for the last day and a half, and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, it's getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

It takes about ten minutes for Allison to doze off, curled up against Stiles' side, her head on his shoulder. Stiles feels his eyes drifting shut and forces them open, biting his tongue to jerk himself awake. He glances over to the loveseat to see Derek studying him.

"You're different," Derek says.

"I was five when we last saw each other, Derek," Stiles says. "I grew out on monster trucks and ninja turtles."

"That's not what I mean," Derek says.

"What, you mean how fucked up I am? Believe me, you don't need to remind me that I'm a broken human being," Stiles says.

"I didn't mean that either," Derek says.

Stiles sighs and rubs a hand over his face, careful not to jostle Allison.

"Yeah, I know," Stiles says. "It's what happens when you're raised in an Argent household."

"You know, Cora cried for two weeks after they took you," Derek says. Stiles holds his gaze, though it's hard. "Laura and I tried to help, but we were sad too. Peter was stronger than we were, but he missed you. Mom was livid that social services gave you over to family you've never known, but she wasn't a blood relative so they wouldn't listen to her."

"What's your point, Derek?" Stiles says. "It doesn't change anything that happened. What's done is done."

"My point is, you don't have to leave again," Derek says. "You're loved, and you're wanted here."

Despite his best efforts, and despite how tired he is of crying in the last thirty-six hours, Stiles feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He looks away. He's honestly not sure when the last time he heard that was. Maybe from his mom. 

Derek doesn't seem to have anything left to say, so he just sits there quietly. Eventually, Stiles starts to nod off, leaning his head on Allison's. He stirs briefly some time later when Peter, Talia, and Cora come back. There's whispering around him, but Stiles doesn't bother opening his eyes, even though they can probably tell he's only on the edge of sleep.

"We should get them to the guest room," Talia whispers.

"No, just let them sleep," Peter says. "They seem like they need it."

Stiles appreciates it because he's so fucking exhausted and he's not moving. Someone lays a blanket over him and Allison and turns off the lights. It only takes a few more minutes for sleep to fully take him.

\---

It's been two weeks, and Talia hasn't asked them to leave. Chris has gotten a hotel room in town, but Allison and Stiles are still in one of the guest rooms. Whenever Stiles mentions leaving, Talia insists they'll talk about it later, and then they never do.

Stiles spends a lot of time driving around Beacon Hills. So much has changed, new stores and housing developments, even a new community college. But everything is also so familiar. The longer he stays, the harder it is to think about leaving. He doesn't want his presence to taint the family, but they don't seem to agree and it gets harder to want to argue with them.

Stiles isn't sure what Chris is going to do. The Argent name is pretty much mud now that it's gotten out what Gerard and Kate had been up to. The Calaveras, not Stiles' favorite people usually, had been surprisingly helpful rounding up the rest of the Argent supporters and giving them an ultimatum; join a respectable hunter faction, or hang up your gun. The Calaveras like to think of themselves as the Hunter Police, which has been irritating in the past, but he can admit came in handy this time.

The Calaveras more or less left Chris alone, offering him a position with them, but not demanding he take it. He had politely turned them down. Allison thinks he's trying to put back together his shattered world view. She is too, but Stiles thinks she's doing a spectacularly better job than her father. To be fair, Chris has had a few more years of brainwashing to undo, but Stiles isn't feeling all that charitable and doesn't feel like being fair.

Allison becomes Laura's sons' favorite storybook reader ("She does all the voices right! Even the fish!"). Laura is extremely wary of her at first, insisting she be in the room while Allison is with any of the children. On the one hand, Stiles understands. On the other, Allison didn't help save their lives to turn around and hurt them now. He keeps his opinions to himself and Laura eventually relaxes. She still eyes Allison and Stiles speculatively from time to time, but Stiles is pretty sure that isn't going to change.

Stiles goes on a lot of long walks in the preserve, usually accompanied by Peter, sometimes by Cora. He doesn't know what he's looking for, certainly not absolution, for he knows he won't find it. But it puts his mind somewhat at peace to be walking through the trees just for the sake of enjoying them, as opposed to chasing a werewolf down and ending their life. 

It also brings back memories he hadn't realized he still has. He remembers tripping next to the big rock a quarter of a mile away from the lake. He remembers Cora betting he couldn't climb to the top of one of the tallest trees on the Hale property, and him getting stuck trying. He remembers picnics with his family and the Hales, watching the kids shift into wolf pups and running with them through the mud and trees. Derek and Laura's birthday party where they played freeze tag. Peter buying them all ice cream then dropping them off with their parents to deal with the sugar crash. Sleepovers in the family room when his mom first got sick and his dad couldn't get off work.

Peter takes Stiles to where his parents are buried. Stiles hadn't even known where that is before Peter offers to take him. Peter asks if Stiles wants to be alone and Stiles surprises himself by saying no. Peter sits with him silently in front of his mother and father's graves for almost an hour before Stiles stands and says they can go.

"Are you sure?" Peter asks. "We don't have to leave if you don't want to."

"It's not...I don't feel connected to this place, you know? This is where their bodies are, but it's not where I remember their souls," Stiles says. "It's just a plot of grass. I'm glad I came, but I don't need to be here anymore."

"Okay," Peter says.

Stiles likes that about Peter, he doesn't push. Talia pushes him to talk about what happened. Laura pushes him for more information on hunters' tactics. Even Derek and Cora push him to spend more time with the pack, to try to integrate more. Peter doesn't, even though Stiles can tell he has his own opinions.

"Do you want to know about the Argents?" Stiles asks when they get in Peter's sleek car.

Peter pauses, key in the ignition.

"If you want to tell me," Peter says.

Stiles takes a deep breath and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, Peter's looking at him intently.

"So when Gerard took me in..."

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


End file.
